


Imagination

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Different Endings, M/M, POV First Person, POV First Person implied, thought piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Imagine if we met at a coffee shop. Or a party, or bookstore, or a basketball game. Somewhere loud, bustling and undeniably human. Somewhere where neither of our current selves would ever have the luxury of being in for too long.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Imagination

Imagine if we met at a coffee shop. Or a party, or bookstore, or a basketball game. Somewhere loud, bustling and undeniably human. Somewhere where neither of our current selves would ever have the luxury of being in for too long. 

You’d be wearing a Henley, or perhaps a tee-shirt. Maybe it’s summer. Either way, it pulls tight over your muscles. It shows you off in a way that is meant to appeal more than it is meant to threaten. You don’t flash your biceps because it lets people know you are capable of protecting yourself, but to let them know you could protect them. If they wanted you to. 

When we’d meet, maybe we’d both be charmed. You would laugh less like it was being pulled from you and more like you never learned how not to. There would still be lines around your eyes, but they’d be from your smiles. 

We might exchange numbers, or perhaps we’d still butt heads. We would have to meet accidentally again and again, culminating a friendship before anything else. Or, without the fear of what power sex can hold, we’d fuck on our first meeting. 

Or it wouldn’t go like that at all. We’d talk for hours, wherever we met. Get a table and you’d laugh over the way the barista purposefully mispronounced names. Walk outside, where other college students are puking in the bushes, and drunk ramble to each other and the stars. Whisper to you while you sit on the bench and wait to be put in. 

The night or day would end with a second meeting, and then a third and so on. We’d get to numbers eventually, but it would be weeks after the longest we spent apart was a day. 

You’d say that you were in grad school, and of course you were. You were too old to also be an undergrad. You’d stomp out any doubt that you could want or love someone who was too young, too unfocussed, too too. 

When you introduce your family, they will smile. You won’t say, but it will be clear in the way that they act. This is not usual for you and it brings them joy. They will invite us over and over and over again, make a room up special for us. Invite us to stay forever and the idea that fire could be anything besides what we make marshmallows on will be far from our minds. 

It will take you more than a year to talk about the supernatural. You’ll be surprised and delighted when you know you won’t be left for it. 

We’ll start spending full moons together. 

It will take longer to talk about Paige, and what happened. It will take even longer to speak on Kate and what could have been. If you had the preference for women older. 

This is an imagination, and it can be as technicolor as it wants. 

The truth might have been grittier. 

Maybe you would have shown your wolf and find yourself alone in the apartment we shared for going on a year. Or maybe, without the constant threat of death looming over us, without it showing you how we could be, you’d never look twice. A grad student wanting an undergrad for more than a quick fuck? 

You laughed a lot, but it was cruel. You were never tempered by loss and it showed in your behaviors. We never came to be because of how you behaved. 

There was a chance you’d never even go to school. That you’d gotten a degree from some technical school for cars. That we’d meet when you were under the hood of the Jeep, covered in oil. 

You’d still be quiet, still be you. You wouldn’t laugh much, but that is because it would be something to be earned. The Jeep would be brought in as much as could be afforded, just to see you. 

When you talked on werewolves, you’d find that there was another pack. That we both knew and thought the other didn’t. That the packs adored each other. 

Maybe we’d never cross paths. Your pack moved away after the failure that was Kate, in due caution to hunters. You never return. 

These are more realistic daydreams. They were more honest, but they weren’t the truth. 

When we really met, you said, This is private property. 

There are lines around your eyes and a set to your mouth, but neither say joy. They are both from weariness, both from grief. 

It is unclear on if you ever went to a college, or to a technical school, or even finished high school. It is hard to imagine you in a coffee shop. You’d never be seen at a party or bookstore and your days of basketball are well behind you. 

It is clear that you were robbed the chance of a happy ending, that you weren’t given a fair shake to see where life would lead you.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I really just wanted to do an introspective thought piece on Stiles, for when he first starts falling for Derek. 
> 
> The goal of this was to technically write first person, but without ever using the words "I" or "me" or anything that directly references the POV. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
